Chapter 30
THIRTY
KIRA
As Isaak bends me over a leather bench and secures leather cuffs to my ankles and wrists, I have a brief freakout moment.
What the hell have I just gotten myself into? I’m not into pain… I don’t think. Isaak knows that, right?
I don’t even know why I climbed up on the poker table like that. I just knew I had the impulse— get up on the table and show your cunt off to the whole room . And I needed to know if it was an intrusive thought or a real one. As I was doing it, I felt wild. And on the edge of crazy, too. As in, maybe actually nuts. I was always worried about what would happen if I gave in to the intrusive thoughts.
Like, would I someday end up with a fork shoved in my hand? Or would I yank the wheel of my car and drive off a cliff while I’m driving in the Texas Hill Country with all those dramatic drop-offs and nothing but a tiny railing between me and the great beyond?
My thoughts have terrified me since I was a teenager when they really started getting scary. So I didn’t let myself do… well, anything . I followed the rules religiously. Religion gave such strict rules, too, and I was always so good at following rules.
But somehow that was still never good enough for my mother. Because she had so many extra rules. Rules for everything, and they were never written down anywhere. Invisible rules for food, rules for how I was supposed to do my hair, and rules for which clothes I was supposed to wear with which shoes. Rules for how I was supposed to respond when Carol was sad, angry, or happy, and rules for the expression I was supposed to have on my face at all times.
No matter how good I was at the rules everywhere else, I always failed with Carol. Once I reached for a second piece of fudge, and Carol cast her eyes disparagingly my way and said, “I’d rather be anorexic than fat.”
So I put the fudge back and had a mild ED for the rest of high school. Losing pounds as I disappeared. Barely there. So invisible no one ever saw me except Drew when he needed comfort.
“What are your hard and soft limits?” Isaak asks while securing my left—and last—wrist.
“Uh…” I cast my brain around quickly.
“Do you know what that means?”
“Of course I know what it means,” I snap. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve studied all about safewords and hard and soft limits.”
I guess he doesn’t know me well enough yet to realize that when I learned that BDSM was all about rules, I got excited and learned them all forward and backward. I love rules as much as my mind rebels against them and sends chaotic thoughts like bolts of lightning attacking me.
Jumping Isaak in the elevator was the first time I’ve given in to the chaos. I don’t know if I’m walking a path of destruction by stepping off the narrow path of the rules like my religion growing up always promised would happen. But no one else in this room is following those rules. My entire college degree has been about trying to deconstruct all that shit.
Because aren’t all those rules just the boundaries of the conditioning I learned? To change, I have to start breaking rules. In spite of all I’ve learned, I’ve just kept coloring inside the lines. As if all I learned was only for other people. Not for me .
“Great,” Isaak says with only the tiniest eye roll. “So what are yours?”
“Um.” I bite my bottom lip and Isaak frowns at me. Oh right, that’s my poker tell. I don’t want to confuse him. Well, only occasionally, on my terms. I refuse to be intimate with someone I can’t hide my feelings from.
Dr. Ezra says it’s not lying; it’s just massaging other people’s perceptions.
I’m just lucky no one insisted on seeing my cards during my last round of play. I only had a pair of kings high when I bet, but with the last card that came on the river, I got a flush. Flush beats a straight.
But I wanted to prove to myself that I do have a poker face. So, by losing and not letting Isaak know I wasn’t bluffing, I really won and broke my first rule: I don’t always have to be honest.
Plus, the thoughts bombarding my brain said get naked and tempt him to stay and play. Reckless, maybe, but my therapist says as long as the intrusive thoughts aren’t self-destructive, I shouldn’t worry.
A.k.a., it’s okay to break the rules sometimes .
The question is: is having a wildly intense affair with Isaak right before my wedding self-destructive? I don’t know. It’s not cheating. It’s not as if me and my husband-to-be are even having sex.
And maybe some part of me thinks my pathetic life needs some fucking destroying.
Tear me apart , I want to beg. Rip my little fucking box to shreds.
Instead, I say calmly, “Hard limits are no pain beyond an eight on a scale of one to ten. No fisting, no gags, no gut punching, no trampling, no whipping, no electric shocks, no blood play, no water sports, no breath play.”
“Jesus,” Isaak says. “Gut punching? How the fuck do you have a list like that in your head to reel off? Most people check things off on a list at the front desk. I was about to go get one.”
I laugh with nervous excitement. “I may have studied up. Just in case one day.”
“Teacher’s pet,” he says, spanking my exposed ass.
I let out a noise at the contact, squirming where I’m cuffed in place. The chaotic thoughts in my head still for a moment. My butt cheek feels warm where he spanked it, and it’s almost like I can still feel the impact reverberating all throughout my body. And it’s not pain. Just sensation.
I want more. Please, God, could I just escape my brain for two seconds?
“I’m going to take your limits seriously. But everything else is on the table then?”
I nod quickly. “Yes. My safe word is red. Now do it again,” I breathe out. “Please.”
Because the thoughts are already racing back in. Should I have texted Drew details on when I can meet him tomorrow? It was probably cold of me to just cut him off like that and then turn off the phone. What if he kept texting me back or was having a really dark night? Yeah I might be going through my own shit, but his father is a legit monster. He’s your fiancé and you’re a selfish cunt.
But then Isaak spanks me again and my thoughts go blessedly blank. All guilt and shame I’m feeling about letting Drew down disappears like a storm cloud blown away with a fresh wind.
I breathe out with such peace.
“Again. Please.”
After Isaak’s third spanking, a tear falls down my eye.
I’m crying.
I almost laugh with shock.
Oh my god, I’m actually crying! After so long with no tears at all—five whole years—I’ve been worried I was broken somehow.
“Kira?” Isaak questions in concern, leaning over.
I shake my head, my throat thick. He doesn’t get it. I’m not crying because it hurts.
It takes everything I have to make eye contact with him and beg, “Please. Keep going. Don’t worry if I cry. It’s a good thing. Trust me.”
He’s still frowning, but he nods. He continues spanking me and the precious tears flow, my mind blessedly empty.
I mean, there’s obviously something going on. But marvelously, it’s happening in my unconscious, or maybe just in my body. I’m so thankful for the release, either way.
And unlike during my rigorous meditation sessions where I try so hard to empty my mind, with each new spanking Isaak delivers on my quickly heating ass, my brain goes immediately blank.
He’s not spanking me hard. They’re more like swats that make my flesh jiggle. It’s only when he smacks in a place he’s already hit before that I begin to feel the sting.
But then, my whole butt’s just so warm that it almost feels like nothing at all the more he spanks me, even when I can tell he’s spanking me harder.
I start to wait for the harder spanks, closing my eyes. I know there are probably people in the club watching us. Wasn’t that part of what thrilled my rebellious mind when I climbed up on the table? Was that only fifteen minutes ago? Or a half hour? I think I’m starting to lose track of time in this limitless, hazy place.
I just know I don’t care about the people out there anymore.
I want to be here, in the bubble of this quiet place, with my body and Isaak, who’s holding me tethered here.
He’s such a big man but I can tell he’s handling me so carefully. He spanks me in a way where his fingertips graze my pussy. In my mind’s eye, I see my pussy light up like a bright beacon in my dark, calm body.
I shift in my safe confines to feel out the contours of this strange inside-out body, all my nerve endings lighting up like little sparkle-signals sent outwards from my lit-up core.
As if he can see exactly what I’m seeing, too, Isaak’s hands drop between my legs, his big hand familiar with me after our week exploring every part of one another in bed. He immediately teases around my clit, leaving me aching instead of immediately giving me satisfaction like he usually does.
My breathing gets short, and I try to squirm toward his body. But that only makes him retreat again. He returns to spanking me, except more and more often, his blows land between my spread thighs, long fingers smacking my open sex.
It’s delicious and wrong by every measure of calculation I grew up with. Everything I’m doing right now breaks the rules.
And it feels so fucking liberating my mind just blanks out with the freedom of it. It feels soooo good.
On and off the teasing goes. There’s only Isaak and me in this room in my mind now, dark and deep and sultry.
If my bonds were untied, I would turn to fall at his knees and beg. I would worship him, and suck his toes, and suckle his balls in my mouth, and let him suffocate me with his cock down my throat.
I’ve never wanted to worship someone’s body before like this. I should find it alarming, but I don’t. Nothing is alarming here. I’m all lizard brain. And I like it. No, I love it. I love the feeling of wanting to worship the ground his body walks on.
When I feel his hard cock sliding between my thighs and pushing between the lips of my sex, I feel such heated gratitude that all I can do is weep and push back against him, begging him to get inside me faster.
His hands grasp my hips, and he slides easily inside my wet sex. Well, at least the tip of him does. He’s so thick, there’s no way all of him goes in easily. He never does, even after all the sex we’ve been having. He’s just too big. I let out a sharp exhale as he continues pushing in, shifting my hips against the bench to try to fit him better.
“That’s right. Let me in, beautiful.”
I do. I relax and let him in. He spanks me, and I allow him in further.
Then he bends over my back, which embeds him even deeper. My eyes are still closed, so I can only gasp when I feel the pinch at first my left nipple—much sharper than usual when he just pinches them with his hand—and then my right.
My eyes pop open to look down to find nipple clamps dangling from my nipples, sparkling rhinestones that glitter in the dim lights of the club. Right when I go to take a breath in, he flicks the bottom of the jewelry and I end up making a sharp gasping noise.
Now my body’s alive with sensation everywhere. It zings back and forth between my clamped nipples, full-of-cock vagina, and heated back where Isaak’s still leaning over me. As he retracts, I immediately lament the withdrawal of his soft chest hair brushing against my back.
But then he’s distracting me again by flicking my nipple clamps. The dangling gemstones tug in a way that makes me bite my bottom lip as my nipples harden and extend beneath the clamp. It hurts, yes, but the nerve sensation is stronger.
And it only gets stronger still when Isaak starts really fucking me again while also putting enough space between us on his outthrusts to reach down and spank my ass.
I all but feel my eyes roll back in my head as pleasure threatens to roll through me in great spasms. Right before it can, though, Isaak pulls out.
I’m so far gone, I can’t even protest.
I might be drooling for all I know. But it doesn’t matter. Because I don’t have to worry about what’s happening now or what comes next. Isaak will take me there. He’ll take care of me.
Oh god, it feels so free to be able to trust someone else besides just myself.
I’ve been so tired. So fucking tired carrying this whole load myself. More tears slip from my eyes as my body gives itself over completely.
There’s a buzzing in my ears as I sink into a deep, dark, safe place.
Something warm starts swatting against my ass. I like how warm and stingy it is. See, I knew I could trust Isaak to take me where we needed to go next.
I continue to cry. Such fresh, cleansing tears.
I’m so loose and free here in the buzzing dark with Isaak’s hands on my body.
All I ever want is Isaak’s hands on my body.
I could stay here always. I never want to go back out there to the cold world. I vaguely remember that there were worries that disturbed me earlier.
But they aren’t here right now. It’s just me and my Isaak here. Just me and my Isaak.
And feeling so good and right and free and easy.
Here in the gooey, blissful now .